âJust a minute,â Paris said, holding back when Randy would have run on
âYou know, youâve completely lost your cardio momentum,â he said, jogging in place.
âAnd youâve lost your mind. Why did you tell your friends I was coming to the picnic when you havenât mentioned it to me?â
âBecause if I go with a woman, they wonât spend all afternoon trying to fix me up. Please, Paris. Help me out here.â
Paris gave him a dirty look and jogged off. She hated to admit that there was something delicious about the ground flying under her feet, the sweet air filling her lungs and a strong man beside her, looking wonderful in his T-shirt and shorts.
âIâll get you for this,â she threatened so that he wouldnât see her pleasure in the moment.
He cast her a glance, his expression curious. âI think youâve already got me.â
Dear Reader,
As a nondriver, I take cabs a lot and have found cabdrivers to be the most interesting people. One of our local companies is owned by a woman who employs her daughter and another woman I know. I love riding with them. Not that male drivers arenât also interesting, but itâs always nice to have a woman-to-woman conversation while watching the scenery go by.
When I was looking for a way to extend our MEN OF MAPLE HILL series, I remembered that Iâd made casual mention in a previous book of two sisters who came home after their dreams were short-circuited and now owned a cab company. I had intended that little tidbit to simply give texture to that moment, but now appreciated that it held story potential. So many of our paths in life are taken because other carefully made plans fall through and weâre forced to search for a new direction. What better way to do that than with other people on a journey, sitting in the back seat of your cab?
Hope you enjoy riding with Paris and Prue.
Sincerely,
Muriel
PARIS OâHARA WAS SERIOUSLY tempted to run in the other direction. This was not about being rude, she told herself. This was about taking charge of her life, clearing the decks, pulling it together. If Randy Sanfordâs feelings were hurt in the process, she wasnât to be blamed. She had to let him know where she stood.
It was all Addy Whitcombâs fault. If she wasnât so determined to turn every unattached man working for Whitcombâs Wondersâher sonâs formidable collectiveâand every single woman in Maple Hill, Massachusetts, into one half of a happy relationship, Paris wouldnât be hiding behind her cab and mustering her courage.
Sheâd peeked around the corner just a moment ago and seen Randy Sanford in the driveway of the fire station, washing down the red-and-white ambulance in which he and his partner responded to emergencies.
Parisâs friend, Mariah Trent, had pointed him out at a school fund-raiser. He was short and portly and clearly the life of the party. Everyone around him had been laughing.
Had it been a year ago, and had Randy Sanford been more serious, Paris might have caved in to Addyâs insistence that they meet. But it wasnât. It was now. And nothing in her life was funny.
Paris peeked around the corner again.
The timing was perfect. One of the fire trucks was being serviced, and the other was being used to conduct a demonstration on fire safety at the elementary school. Except for a skeleton crew of firemen shooting hoops on the other side of the building, her quarry was alone.
Russell Watsonâs voice blared from inside the ambulance and Randy lip-synched âVa Pensieroâ as Paris squared her shoulders, marched around the corner and stopped beside him. âRandy Sanford?â she asked.
He opened his mouth to reply, then raised his index finger in a âjust-a-minuteâ gesture as he crossed the driveway and turned off the water. She followed him.
The moment he straightened away from the faucet, she offered her hand and what she hoped was a warm smile. âHi, Iâm Paris OâHara,â she shouted over the music. âThatâs my favorite CD, too. Weâve never been formally introduced, but Addy Whitcombâs been trying to get us together for months. I apologize on her behalf for putting you through that. She means well, of course, but sheâs so convinced that man canât live without woman and vice versa, that she doesnât understand ânoâ when she hears it, and Iâve certainly said it to her enough times.â
As he studied her closely, apparently waiting for her to get to the point, she noticed that he had very nice brown eyes and a very sweet face. She wasnât much for buzz cuts, but it seemed to suit him. She followed him back to the ambulance as he ran around the vehicle, reached through the open window and turned off the music.